An Anthropological Viewby Kirk W Huffman Burning the Future - Part Two

Around
a decade ago, during construction of the medical archives building next to C'an
Misses (the hospital just outside of Ibiza town), it is said that three elderly
rural peasants came to warn the architects and builders not to build on that
site. As most of those involved in aspects of the work were forasters
('foreigners', which in rural island terminology can include just about anyone
from Mallorca to Mongolia - or even, as in Formentera, to a local born off the
island), this polite warning went unheeded and disparaging remarks were made
about the educational levels of elderly islanders (well, in a polite newsletter
like this one cannot really write that they were just told 'to piss off', can
one?). But the three old peasants were correct and the modern architects and
builders were wrong. Because the island has been becoming increasingly drier,
none of the latter had really bothered much to look into the past water drainage
history of that particular site. If they had, they would have discovered that
they were building on a rainstorm flash-flood drainage area. Sure enough, heavy
rains around 1995 damaged much of the site, which may explain why it may possibly
be, it is said, rather difficult to obtain access to certain pre-1995 medical
records.

Lack
of interest in, and respect for, traditional Eivissenc/Ibicenco house styles
and emplacements is not just restricted to certain (but not all) forester
architects or builders but is seemingly shared by some of their more 'up market'
local colleagues. Centuries of refinement of ancient and well-proven traditional
house construction and emplacement methods on the island have given the isolated
traditional casa pagès (a) a well-deserved
reputation for rustic perfection and adaptation to the environment. With the
arrival of tourism, 'modernisation' laughed at these ancient residences - many
of which could actually be classed as 'works of art' - and almost literally
destroyed the tradition overnight. Anyone visiting rural areas of the island
today can see these ancient masterpieces dotted around the forested hills. At
first view their emplacement - or positioning - may seem haphazard, but nothing
could be further from the case. The traditional rural Eivissenc settlement pattern
seems to have always been dispersion verging on isolation and, except for certain
well-known exceptions, the concept of clumping together in 'villages' almost
a 'foreign tradition' enforced particularly after the Catalan re-conquest in
the 13th century (i.e., relatively recently as the anthropological
time scale goes) and now also with the 'Tourism conquest'. An attempt from Vila
(Ibiza town), Mallorca and the mainland in the 18th century to almost
force those remaining rural peasants to abandon their isolated 'extended family
kingdoms' to settle near churches/villages was a failure. These rural residences
are masterpieces: constructed by wise peasants with an intimate knowledge of
the terrain, of climate, and of the difficulties that periodic climatic problems
can cause. Droughts and periodic intense storms with floods are all part of
the deep rural memory passed on by word of mouth from generation to generation.
Cultures based upon the passing down of traditions orally tend to have a longer
historic memory (or at least one that is more strongly revered and felt) than
most literate cultures. And as 'modernisation' proceeds worldwide we can begin
to see the even further shortening of mankind's interest and attention spans.
Anyone watching CNN news on their satellite television here on the island can
glimpse the 'difficulties' (?) that a major US news organization has once it
has realised (?) that attention spans of its home audience now seem within the
30-90 second range. Memory spans of rural populations traditionally encompass
generations and hundreds of years of accumulated experience. Modernisation can
shorten that very quickly: all it needs is one generation that does not pass
on that culture and then - whoosh! - hundreds or thousands of years of experience
go down the drain forever. This, unfortunately, is rather like what has happened
in much of Eivissa/Ibiza within the last two generations or so. Many people
seem to think that this is inevitable in the modern world: it should not be,
and the loss of accumulated experience memory poses problems for us in the future.

As
much as possible the isolated traditional casa pagès (a) (peasant house), positioned on traditionally held family
land, was placed in such a way that es
porxo (the entrance hall/room) and its porxet
(sheltered porch entrance) faced south to catch the maximum sun. The (often-blank)
backside of the house faced north as protection from the sometimes fierce traumontana
winds and storms. Rural house positioning (but not necessarily that of certain
older buildings in the areas of Vila
and Portmany, San Antonio) took into
account availability of water during summer and drought seasons and the sometimes
torrential floods occurring during the winter - maximising access to water in
the summer and minimising possible rain/flood damage in the winter. Many modern
houses and urbanization's built on the island in the last 40 years or so often
forget to take such important considerations into account. As the weather in
this part of the world changes with global warming, certain modern builders
and house owners will bitterly regret past mistakes. New houses built below
areas liable to collapse; on low-lying land or near ancient flood run-off ditches
('torrentes') will take the brunt of the increased power of the future storms
mentioned in last week's article. Modern houses built in 'scenic spots' on the
coast but that may be potentially affected by the forecast rise in sea level,
higher tides and storm surges, may not become the best-selling houses on the
market. As local insurance companies begin to realise the implications, many
of such newer constructions may have difficulty finding a company willing to
insure them or, if so, at a price that is not astronomical. Traditionally oriented
societies construct their habitations with climate fluctuations in mind. In
Vanuatu in the Southwest Pacific, usually affected by around half a dozen cyclones
each year during the rainy season (from the beginning of October to the end
of March or even April there), traditional architecture has developed over many
centuries to minimise cyclone damage. There, house and ritual structures (all
made of wood, leaf, vines and local fibre rope) are built with thick roofs plunging
almost to the ground: roof-supporting walls are as short as possible. Such a
structure can make it rather difficult for a cyclone to collapse the walls and
tear off the roof. Over the last 150 years missionaries have emphasised the
importance of having a sort of 'European' type house (albeit of local materials)
with higher walls and a shorter, less sloping, roof. The latter kind of structure
is just the kind that will disappear most quickly in a cyclone, whilst the low-lying
traditional structures may be damaged but remain essentially intact. In February
1987 Cyclone 'Uma' hit central and southern Vanuatu with incredible force and
50 people sadly lost their lives. The previous January I had been in the village
of Purao, on the island of Tongoa in central Vanuatu, to take part in rituals
for the opening of a new traditional ceremonial house. This vast oval structure
of wood and leaf thatch, over 30 metres long and 15 metres wide, was shaped
rather like an up-turned canoe with the tight metre-thick thatched roof almost
touching the ground. It had taken up to a hundred men nearly a year to build
and involved first choosing massive curved trees that could be cut and cured
for the roof supports. Chosen were trees that had a strong low projecting branch,
which was cut off a metre or two from the trunk. The base of the cut tree was
then dug deeply into the ground with the lower branches buried underground as
well. A whole series of these large curved supports were thus dug into the ground
and served as the 'ribs' of the structure which was therefore firmly 'hooked'
into the ground by the branches. The thick thatched roof curved down almost
to the ground, and even the entrance was so low one had to bend to enter. When
the massive cyclone struck shortly afterwards, the population of the whole village
(about 350 people), most of whom lived in less safer 'mission' style huts, sheltered
inside under the direction of Chief Tarisaliu and his advisors. For those of
you readers who may have been stuck in the middle of a massive cyclone, you
will know that one does not necessarily just 'batten down the hatches' and sit
it out. If one is in a house, one has to be aware of the changes in atmospheric
pressure and wind direction of the phenomenon as wind pressure and direction
can build up an effect that causes the structure to implode upon itself (this
has happened to me before in the South Pacific) unless action is taken. It was
interesting how the people from Purao sheltering inside the vast ceremonial
hut dealt with the situation. Under orders from the chief and the elderly advisors,
strong young men were placed inside at particular points along the base of the
structure and others strapped themselves similarly along sections of the vast
roof. As the cyclone swirled around the structure the chief and advisors shouted
orders indicating that various men should periodically loosen or tighten some
of the strong fibre cords along the roof and open or close ventilation flaps.
Everyone from Purao survived safely, although only one house in the village
was left standing. Hearing a detailed description of this later from one of
the chief's elderly advisors, it made me think of the crew of a 19th century
whaling ship struggling through an intense storm under orders from the captain
shouting through a megaphone. Rather like a scene from the classic Walt Disney
film 'Moby Dick'.

Modern
architects on Ibiza - and elsewhere - will eventually be forced to take into
account the gradual worsening of storm weather brought 'to a house near you'
by global warming and climate change. Shoddy building techniques and emplacements
will possibly eventually have to carry legal penalties. Some of the architects
here on the island should rapidly de-learn and re-learn construction approaches
to avoid pitfalls in the future and it would be extremely useful for them to
delve into traditional local rural architecture, not to just be inspired by
its beauty and seeming simplicity, but to learn the well-tried local approaches
to trying to solve the problems of drought combined with periodic torrential
rains and storms. Whether this will happen here in time or not one does know.
I remember attending a public round table discussion in the Sala de Cultura
in San Antonio on the future of the casa pagesa
in the early 1990s.This had been organised as the closing session of a photographic
exhibition on traditional Ibicenco rural houses put together by the Belgian
architect Philippe Rotthier and his organisation T.E.H.P. (Taller d'Estudis
del Hàbitat Pitius en Ibiza). Rotthier asked one of the invited guests, an Ibicenco
mayor of one of the island's largest villages/towns (also an architect) how
he saw the future of these increasingly rare architectural masterpieces. "S'ha
accabat" ('It is finished'), replied the mayor/architect, to the shocked
gasps of the audience: " It is part of the past and we must look to the
future", he continued. Visibly shaking, Rotthier then asked the other major
invited guest, the islander president of a local architect's association, who
replied "We are not here to copy old house styles, our work is modernisation
and urbanisation". The audience was visibly angry and it looked for one
minute as if a fight might break out. Grabbing the microphone, Rotthier said
grimly, " After viewing the exhibition and hearing the discussion this
evening, one can see that in the old days Ibiza had architecture without architects
and today has architects without architecture! "There was uproar. But such
things happen, and it is not really, I suppose, Ibiza's fault that such a massive
proportion of its modern buildings are an eyesore. Spain was the first country
to develop mass tourism; there were no other countries upon which one could
rely for advice. And on Ibiza, so isolated for so long, anything new was exciting,
no matter how ugly it looks now. Building was done at break neck speed as the
tourist's numbers kept increasing. Lack of aesthetic awareness of some of the
local builders was sometimes put as the cause, sometimes 'just plain greed'
is also mentioned. However, a lot of the blame can also be placed upon the foreign
tour operators and some of the tourists themselves for not complaining enough
about the quality of such a high percentage of the new buildings.

The
effects of global warming and climate change will damage these relatively new,
cheaply made, buildings a lot more than the ancient rural houses. It will force
changes in building practice not just in Ibiza, but around the world. And it
must be admitted that there are, luckily, some new buildings on the island that
show taste, flare, respect for tradition and awareness that quality construction
is not just a thing of the past. It would be interesting to be able to visit
Ibiza in the year 2100 - by which time the full-blown effects of climate change
outlined in last weeks article will have taken place- and to see what buildings
existing today remain. By then, sea levels will possibly be a metre higher than
today. What will the island's coastline be like then? It will still be a very
special island, as it always has been throughout history. But drastic changes
worldwide may mean that 'special islands' are no longer of importance. Problems
of relocating the world's global warming refugees may have, by then, eclipsed
most other topics of concern and there may be little leisure for tourism. Just
bear this in mind: certain densely populated low-lying countries (not to mention
the low islands in the Pacific and the Caribbean) will have their backs to the
wall. In 1990 it was estimated that a rise in sea level of only 30cms would
force 30 million people from Bangladesh out of their homes. This is just an
example. Where will all these people go? They can't all come to Ibiza....

We
will look into this in more depth later on. But next Wednesday my wife and I
are off for a month's travelling. If I come across a computer on the way, I
will submit articles when I can to our editor, Gary Hardy. Until then, I send
you all best wishes for Europe's festive season... from the island where bright
warm sunlight makes one squint the eyes in December whilst the rest of Europe
freezes. Back here in mid-January. Molts
anys i bons.